Helldiver: The Alex Morgan Interpol Spy Thriller Series (Intrepid 4) by Chris Allen

Author:Chris Allen [Chris Allen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781760300616
Publisher: Momentum
Published: 2015-11-08T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 17

Cap d’Antibes, Côte d’Azur, République française

The Rolls Royce Phantom entered the property via an ornate gateway of stone and iron and Helldiver’s castle appeared in the distance. Morgan’s immediate impression of the Château de la Lavande – via some vague recollections from his history studies at university – was that it was most probably Baroque. The château was situated on high ground and so appeared to ascend, supported by cupped hands as you got closer to it; the cleverly crafted illusion was designed to draw the eye to two enormous semicircular hedges – the hands – that held a lush garden of lavender at the end of the long avenue of holly oaks. Dozens upon dozens of classical colonnades framed the château’s windows and doors to create a formal symmetry providing the only indication of the three-story arrangement. The structure was surmounted by a mansard roof of immense complexity, sitting as a crown that disappeared behind the façade as you approached. Baroque architecture was rare in this part of France which explained the turret just visible over the north-eastern corner, designed to protect by providing observation far out to sea in the days when that was necessary. The house was most likely built upon the remnants of a twelfth-century home that would have originally stood there. As the Phantom drew closer and broke free of the columns of holly oak, on either side of the central garden directly in front of the house oases of lavender dominated among broad-leafed evergreen shrubs, arbutus and stone pines within flawlessly landscaped grounds.

The car drove to the right around the hands of the lavender garden and pulled up at the bottom of a dramatic staircase, which led up to a podium that ran across the front of the building. The openness of the podium suggested a middle ground, a no man’s land, mediating between the formality of the house and the beauty of the gardens. It was breathtaking. The car rolled gently to a stop, the tires crunching on the pebbled driveway. The driver got out and opened Morgan’s door for him.

“Pour vous, monsieur, je vais veiller à ce que les bagages est transféré à votre chambre immédiatement,” he said, reassuring Morgan that his bags would be taken care of.

“Merci bien.”

Morgan approached the entrance of double oak doors that were at least fifteen feet high. Before he had a chance to knock, one of the doors was opened and a young woman appeared dressed in what Morgan recognized as traditional wear for a butler – pinstripe gray flannel trousers, gray vest, black morning-coat, white wing-collared shirt, black tie, white gloves and high-sheen black shoes. She greeted him familiarly as “Major Morgan,” introduced herself as Micheline and told him that Mr. Zolner was expecting him, but first she would show him to his room so he could freshen up after his long trip from the Unites States.

Micheline led Morgan through the grand entrance hall of the residence and, despite two separate visits to Buckingham

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